Latest revision as of 19:36, June 26, 2011

The pet store was selling them for five cents apiece. I thought that
odd since they were normally a couple thousand each. I decided not to
look a gifthorse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like monkeys. I took my 200monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. His
name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really
bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed.
Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing because they started to bleed.

I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new
environment. They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at
high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the
spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour. Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive:
they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sorta' dropped dead.
Kinda' like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Damn
cheap monkeys.

The novel Lollipop/UnBooks:Dead monkeys
is also available in paperback.

I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my
room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked
like I had 200 throw rugs. I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.

I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for
a while, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real
bad. I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want
to call the plumber. I was embarrassed. I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately
there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I had to change
them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so
it didn't all go bad. I got a stomach ache. I didn't call the doctor.

Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in
my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The odor
wasn't improving. I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use the
bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.

I tried burning one of my monkeys. I lit a fire with my lighter. The monkey caught fire instantly.
The burning, dead monkey smelt bad. It was a big fire. Little did I know the bed was flammable. I extinguished the fire.
I now had one dead, burnt monkey; one dead, wet monkey in my toilet; two dead, frozen monkeys in
my freezer; and 197 dead, rotting monkeys in a pile on my bed. And a few flies.

I tried throwing them away but the garbage man said that the city wasn't
allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I had a wet
one. He couldn't take that one either. I didn't bother asking about the
frozen ones. Or the burnt one. I then tried to sell them on eBay.
People wanted old games, and memrobilia.
But they didn't want dead monkeys. I finally arrived at a solution.
I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My friends didn't know quite what to say.
They pretended that they like them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates.
So I punched them in the genitals. They didn't laugh.